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"Then I won't take up any more of your valuable time, Shopkeeper. I have a lot to think about, and a lot of capital to reorganize."
"Take care of yourself, Stephen!" Rosh called out with a relaxed wave.
After a quick exchange with Rosh, Strange left the office, escorted by a staff member.
Strange offered a final, contemplative nod and followed a staff member out the door. He walked with the posture of a man who had just seen a ghost, or perhaps a god, and wasn't quite sure which one was more terrifying.
Once the doctor was gone, the quiet didn't last long. Rosh settled into what had become his new "normal," a steady, rhythmic stream of high-profile clients that kept the shop humming from sunrise to sunset. Just before closing time, he finalized another major deal, watching with a grin as his internal task progress bar ticked forward once again. His mood was, understandably, pretty legendary.
Over the next two weeks, Rosh's life transformed into a high-stakes routine. Even though he'd expanded the team and hired several capable staff members to handle the floor, the influx of customers remained relentless. Ever since the Devil Fruits made their explosive, world-altering debut at Tony Stark's press conference, the hype hadn't just stayed alive; it had evolved into a full-blown cultural phenomenon.
Stark's endorsement had been the initial spark, sure, but the real inferno was fueled by the most powerful marketing tool in existence: word-of-mouth.
In the elite circles of the 1%, news travels faster than a private jet. Everyone who had taken the plunge and bought a fruit was absolutely obsessed with the results. When one billionaire gets a superpower, their nine closest friends immediately decide they need one, too. This "snowball effect" ensured that Rosh's humble, somewhat "shabby" little shop was never without a line of people waiting to change their lives.
Fortunately, things were much more manageable than those early, frantic days. His new employees were proving to be worth every penny, keeping the shop's logistics moving like a well-oiled machine. Sales were brisk, averaging about one or two fruits a day. At this rate, the sales quota wasn't just a goal; it was something Rosh could practically hit while taking a nap.
In just fourteen days, Rosh had moved twenty Devil Fruits. The progress bar was already glowing, sitting comfortably at the two-thirds mark for the mission.
Aside from a quick, professional visit from Maya Hansen to wrap up her transaction, there hadn't been many "legacy" faces in the shop until a high-ranking General from the Army Command made a quiet, surprisingly low-profile appearance.
The General hadn't come with an open checkbook. His mission was purely diplomatic: mending the very broken fences between the United States military and the Home of the Devil Fruits. Their last "interaction" had ended with a smoldering Air Force base and a bruised ego for the Pentagon, a loss that still stung, but one the military was forced to swallow. After witnessing Rosh's suffocating, overwhelming display of power, nobody in the White House was particularly eager for a Round Two.
However, their fear was being rapidly overtaken by a much stronger emotion: intense curiosity. The military's interest in the fruits had reached a fever pitch, and they were finally ready to play nice.
Rosh accepted the military's olive branch without a moment's hesitation. In his mind, there was no point in holding a grudge over a few smoldering craters; he'd already leveled an airbase to make his point, and as far as he was concerned, the account was settled. He calmly assured the General that the military and other government agencies were always welcome as patrons of the shop, provided they respected the rules and understood their place.
The General didn't even try to hide the long, audible sigh of relief that escaped him. It was as if a physical weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Shopkeeper Rosh, I don't mean any offense by this," the General said, choosing his words with the kind of extreme care usually reserved for diffusing a bomb. "But we have to be realistic. Devil Fruit users possess extraordinary, world-altering powers that far exceed anything we've seen. From a strategic and social perspective, they pose a significant threat to the nation's stability. If left entirely unchecked, I fear it won't be long before we're looking at total chaos."
Having established a tentative rapport, the General leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a more serious, diplomatic tone. "If the government were to introduce certain policies... purely to manage and track these individuals... I wonder what your thoughts would be on the matter?"
Before Rosh could even react, the General added a quick, nervous clarification: "I am referring to the ordinary users, of course. Civilians and third-party contractors." He made it abundantly clear that they weren't foolish enough to try to put a leash on Rosh himself.
'Regulating the users?' Rosh gave a casual, dismissive wave of his hand. While he was the one introducing these powers into the ecosystem, he had zero interest in acting as the world's super-powered hall monitor. The military had already conceded that he was far beyond their jurisdiction, and that was all that mattered. As long as their "regulations" didn't interfere with his sales, they could pass whatever laws they liked.
Satisfied that he wouldn't be incinerated for bringing up the topic, the General departed. The mission was a resounding success for the Pentagon. Even so, they didn't rush to make a purchase that day. With Rosh's strict "three fruits per district" limit in place, the military knew they had to be strategic with their picks. They were content to bide their time, waiting for the high-tier, combat-focused fruits to cycle back into the inventory.
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"Shopkeeper... I'm finally back!"
By the end of the month, a familiar, yet heavily altered figure appeared at the shop's entrance. He looked weathered and worn down, his clothes dusty and his face etched with the deep, lingering exhaustion of a man who had been running for a very long time. However, beneath the fatigue, his eyes were burning with a rare, almost manic brand of excitement.
It was Bruce Banner.
After months of lying low, hiding in the shadows of overseas territories, and scrounging for every scrap of resource he could find, he had finally done it. He hadn't just survived; he had gathered enough gold to meet the price tag of the Door-Door Fruit.
"Dr. Banner! It feels like it's been a lifetime," Rosh said, his smile genuine as he stepped out from behind the counter to offer a firm, welcoming handshake. "Welcome back to the shop."
Banner was more than just a customer; he was one of Rosh's most important early leads, the kind of "legacy" client that helped put the Home of the Devil Fruits on the map. Seeing him stand there, looking like he'd crawled through several different kinds of hell just to reach the front door, reminded Rosh of how high the stakes really were for some of these people.
"Yes, it's been... quite a while," Banner admitted, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and relief. He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally dropping an inch. "The road back here was a bit more winding than I expected, but I kept my eyes on the prize, and I finally made it."
After a brief exchange of pleasantries to settle the doctor's nerves, Rosh got straight to the point. He reached into the climate-controlled display and produced a prepared sample of the Door-Door Fruit.
"Here you go, Bruce. You've earned this. Give it a try."
"Thank you, Shopkeeper. For everything," Banner said, taking the small piece with both hands as if it were a religious relic.
He took one final, deep breath, a breath filled with the desperate, jagged hope of a man who was tired of being a fugitive in his own skin, and took a decisive bite. He didn't even flinch when the infamous, soul-shriveling taste hit his tongue. While other customers gagged, vomited, and complained, Banner simply chewed and swallowed with a grim determination. He was a man who had survived gamma radiation; a bad-tasting Devil Fruit wasn't going to stop him.
As the fruit hit his stomach, Banner's eyes flew open as he felt a jarring, visceral shift in his very molecular structure. It was the same sensation every Devil Fruit user described, a "rewiring" of the DNA, but for Banner, it felt like a master key finally being inserted into a lock that had been jammed for years.
"So this is it..." Banner whispered, his voice trembling. "The power of the Door-Door."
He reached out a tentative, shaking hand into the empty air in front of him. He made a sharp "twisting" motion with his wrist, his fingers curling as if he were grabbing an invisible brass knob.
*Creeeeeak!*
The sound of ancient hinges echoed through the modern shop. Right there, suspended in the middle of the room, a door materialized out of thin air. It wasn't a projection or a hologram; it was a physical, wooden door sitting in a void that shouldn't have been able to support it.
"This is... It's completely unbelievable," Banner breathed, his scientific mind momentarily short-circuiting.
Even though Rosh had spent hours explaining the theory months ago, seeing the fundamental laws of physics bent into a pretzel by his own hand was a massive shock to the system. For a world-class physicist, this was the ultimate anomaly. His carefully constructed worldview, built on the pillars of cause and effect, was effectively reduced to dust.
But right on the heels of that scientific shock was an overwhelming tidal wave of hope.
With the ability to create doors anywhere, in the air, through solid walls, or even within the labyrinth of his own subconscious, the "Hulk problem" suddenly felt like something he could solve. He didn't just have a weapon; he had an escape route. He could isolate the beast, create a threshold it couldn't cross.
Finally, for the first time in years, he could be free.
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Next Chapter: The Vanishing of Bruce Banner
Next Next Chapter: The Soldier Who Never Woke Up
Next Next Next Chapter: The World-Changing Phone Call
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